Let Your Colors Bleed
by lalik47
Summary: It was supposed to be easy like the others. It was supposed to be quick. Beca wasn't supposed to slack in something she was good at. She wasn't supposed to fall in love.
1. Chapter 1 - Ready, Set, Go

**Dislclaimer: I don't own Pitch Perfect or it's wonderful characters, I'm just borrowing them for the time being.**

* * *

 _Everybody's got a story to tell_

 _When you're looking up at heaven_

 _But you're stuck in hell_

 _Plat the Game – Kodaline_

* * *

For Beca, there is just something so addicting and fulfilling about watching people pass by from her comfortable spot on a (admittedly very) rusty park bench. Moms rushing with their kids to get to school on time. Men hurrying to catch the bus, silently praying they won't get fired for being a little bit late. Teenagers fleeing from their responsibilities and deciding to ditch school to smoke pot in the park. The typical college student hoping against all hope that the professor wouldn't yell at them for turning in a half-decent essay. It's endless amusement for Beca, if truth be told, to imagine what their lives are like, what they had for breakfast, what are their hopes and dreams. Their fears.

She takes a drag on her cigarette and breathes out the smoke with a sigh of satisfaction. She's not a morning person, but there's just something about watching people at 8am, looking worried as hell and cursing their lives. There's also something about watching the sunrise and pretending her life is as normal as theirs. When in reality, it isn't. Far from it.

"Fuck." She curses, way too loudly for her liking, startling an old couple slowly walking by, when she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. Beca drops her cigarette and stomps her foot on it, offering the old couple an apologetic smile (which looked more like an apologetic grimace), before answering, "Mitchell here, what do you want?"

"Always so polite, Beca." Says the voice on the other end of the line, making her roll her eyes. She'd recognize that voice anywhere, primarily because she's spent ten years of her life hearing it. She even got to be a witness of the squeaky pre-pubescent sounds.

"Seriously, Jesse, I'm not in the mood for this. Either you speak or I hang up." She says, keeping it real and keeping it simple. She hates it when people interrupt her free time, plus there is a hot barista waiting for her at her favorite Starbucks down the corner and she doesn't want to be late for _that_.

"Always a sunshine, always polite." He taunts again, and a sudden urge to throw her phone and aim it at the lake overcomes Beca. "All right, fine, don't you dare get rid off your phone by throwing it against the wall or something like the last time. The boss has a new assignment for you. Says this one is big and really, really important. A real treat and a challenge. A real one."

Beca arches an eyebrow at that. Usually the assignments she gets are dull and boring and she ends up completing them within a week, maybe two. But the boss is never one to joke around when it comes to big things.

"I'm listening."

"Yeah, so, I can't talk about the details because, well, she didn't share them with me. Said it's for your ears only, and it'd be up to you whether to share the info with me or not." Jesse says, and she can almost picture him pouting like a baby, with that puppy look on his face, the one he uses when he wants something. It never works, but she lets him think it does because she doesn't want to see him cry. "She expects you in her office in half an hour. Don't be late, you know she's as patient as you are."

"Nobody is less patient than I am, Jesse." She states matter-of-factly and stands up from her spot on her favorite bench, "I'll be there."

"You better. Oh, and bring me a coffee, will you?"

"No." She says before hanging up.

Beca starts walking down the park, running a hand through her hair every now and then (because goddamn stupid wind). Her plans were slightly shifted, but she always manages to do everything she wants in time and have a little fun in the middle.

It is normal for Starbucks to be extremely crowded, especially in the mornings, and when she looks around and sees how full it is she realizes she arrived just in time for rush hour.

She gets in line, subtly checking out the girl in front of her, who looks way too immersed in her book to pay attention to anything else. Long red hair, long legs, torn out Converse, wearing a dress even though it's fucking freezing outside thanks to the stupid wind (which probably means that the girl is not into the typical weather dressing standards). Interesting.

Beca hears the girl order (cinnamon dolce latte, two sugars) and can't help but feel like a stalker, so she decides to focus on looking around the place in hopes of catching sight of the reason why she's here in the first place (to get some sugar, mind the pun).

"Hi, can we help yo- Oh. Beca. Hey." Greets Donald, an all too familiar guy that kind of hates her guts for getting what he can't. Oops. "She's in the back." He adds the last part with disdain, making her smirk. God, how she loves when guys that claim to be stuck in the friend zone hate her for not being stuck in that imaginary world.

"Is she? Nice. Can I have an espresso, please? Make it extra strong." Beca kind of hopes that he doesn't try to poison her drink. Again.

He nods and growls to himself, to which her smirk only grows wider.

She pays and moves aside, tapping her fingers on the counter as she waits for her drink. Suddenly, a hand takes hold of her arm and the next she knows she is the bathroom, cornered by a tall busty woman.

"Waiting for me?" The woman slurs, looking at her with a hungry look in her eyes.

Beca shrugs, leaning against the wall with her arms closed. "I was actually waiting for my coffee, not for you." She responds, winking to let the woman know it was a well-aimed joke.

The woman knows, of course, and throws her arms around Beca's neck all the same.

"You're an asshole, did you know that?" She says, making Beca chuckle lowly.

"That's the statement of the century, Stacy." Beca murmurs, only to be silenced at the very last moment by a pair of lips on her own. A very pair of horny lips.

And this is why she loves Starbucks.

* * *

Slowly but surely, Beca makes her way towards the elevator, feeling completely smug that she was actually going to be on time even after having some fun in a bathroom stall (not classy, but it does the trick).

"You're not late." Jesse observes as he watches her walk by from his spot in their office (a small room with a simple couch on it, a big TV, some porn magazines and a mini-fridge). "And you didn't bring me my coffee!"

"No, I'm not, and no I didn't." She didn't even get to drink hers, anyway.

Beca knocks on their boss' door a bit too hurriedly, knowing all too well that it'd take the woman hours before she felt it right to let Beca in, knowing how much it annoyed Beca to be kept waiting when it came to important matters.

"Come in and close the door." Says the boss in that husky voice of hers, and Beca wastes no time in getting in (closing the damn door after her, of course).

"Tell me all about the mission." Beca says too eager to remember to conjure her 'be patient, this is your boss, you're not allowed to boss her around' mantra.

"Always so patient, little Mitchell." Her boss, who was examining one of her stupid cat statues in her shelf with love, mumbles. What is this? The 'sarcastically point out Beca's flaws' day?

Her boss turns around and smiles at her at last. It's one of those cold smiles that'd make people shiver all over, but not Beca. She's so very used to this type of smiles, has seen her more often than not, and knows for a fact that that's the only way Harriet Berry knows how to smile. Coldly, without affection, with sick amusement. Something Beca shares with her.

Harriet Berry, infamous con-artist, escaped jail by herself after only a month of being in it. They never got to catch her again. The same Harriet Berry who is the boss of every con person in Manhattan, Pennsylvania and Washington D.C. Harriet Berry, who is past forty and still looks younger than most people going on their twenties (Beca suspects she's secretly a vampire, or that she sucks the youth out of people).

The Harriet Berry who basically raised Beca after her father kicked her out for being gay.

"You know me. Eager to do the job." Beca replies simply.

"Correction: eager to do the girl." Harriet says, and it makes them both laugh sardonically. After their laughter dies out, Harriet goes over to her desk and takes a file (a very heavy one, by the looks of it) and hands it to Beca. "The Beale family, I assume you've heard of them?"

Beca shakes her head, her gaze lingering on the file in her hands for a moment. It is fucking heavy indeed.

"Rich beyond reason. House in the Hamptons, California and Miami. Owners of many foundations that pseudo help preserve the animal life." Harriet elaborates, sitting down on her chair and motioning for Beca to take a seat as well. "This will be no ordinary mission, darling. These people – they took something from me a long time ago. And even though I can't have it back, I know for a fact that I can get a replacement."

"Money?" Beca questions, liking where this is going. She's got a thirst for wronging those who wronged others, but she isn't Robin Hood in disguise and she is not about to pretend to be one.

"It is certainly more valuable than that, Beca, but yes I do want their money. And you know the easiest way to get it." Harriet stands up after having said that, placing her hands on her hips. "You have to promise me one thing first. You'll be reliant, you'll be efficient, quick and you'll not, for the love of God, fall in love."

That puzzled Beca big time.

"Fall in love? Why would I fall in love?" Beca enquired, fighting back the urge to laugh. The idea of falling in love was way more absurd than telling people she actually had a decent job.

"You'd be surprised." Harriet says, and Beca notices something akin to melancholy flash in her eyes for a moment. Though as quickly as it came, it left.

"What's the name of the girl?" Beca asks, moving to open the file so she can find out everything she needs to know about the Beales and her target.

"Chloe. Chloe Beale."


	2. Chapter 2 - Of Colors & Flowers

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Perfect or it's wonderful characters, I'm just borrowing them for the time being!_**

 **Also, a massive thank you to all those who reviewed! You're all lovely! :)**

 ** _Chapter 1._**

 _She was glistening_

 _It won't mend your heart if it's only a couple of lines_

 _Milk – The 1975_

* * *

"Chloe Beale, huh?"

"Yes."

"You bet it'll be easy?"

"Of course."

They are currently sitting in a booth at their favorite local bar ("Robbers"), discussing Beca's newest mission. Jesse, as always, couldn't contain his curiosity from the second Beca walked out of Ms Berry's office, showering her with questions (Beca merely rolled her eyes at him) and pestering her until she'd spill the beans. Of course, since this one was supposed to be top-secret and of high importance, Ms Berry only let her share it with Jesse but outside the office. She didn't want anyone else overhearing ( _precautions, Little Mitchell_ ).

And here they are, going over the file containing every single thing Beca has to know about Chloe and the Beale family.

Bank accounts, where their houses are, family history (apparently, the Beale family have been rich for generations, with a long line of high-ranking ancestors that had been in the government as governors, mayors and even presidents), current family members, how many cars they owned, where each family member had gone to college (Ivy League all of them, big surprise).

They stumble upon several pictures of the Beale family (all redheads except for a tall blonde one who Beca assumes is adopted) and Chloe herself, who is… ridiculously pretty. The pictures of Chloe indicate that she has red hair, blue eyes and creamy skin. She looks, well, hot.

Apparently she's just graduated from Columbia with a major in Arts and has a part-time job at a nearby Art gallery (owned by her aunt); she swings both ways and she's into horse-riding, accapella (whatever the fuck that is), singing in general and she loves to do charity work around the globe.

Beca snorts at that. As if a rich girl like this one would have such sensibility. Chloe's sister (or so it says in the file), however, does look like the obnoxious rich girl type Beca and Jesse are used to stealing from. With her cold stare, a scold instead of a smile and the aura of superiority around her that Chloe doesn't seem to have inherited (she's all smiles and grins in every single photo).

"She's hot." Jesse points out, pointing at a picture in which the scowling blonde has a protective arm around Chloe's shoulders.

"Chloe's hotter. Plus, blondie here looks like she's into eating puppies and eating the souls of children."

"Funny, you have that in common with her!"

Beca throws an empty bottle of beer at him as an answer; she doesn't want her best friend to sport a smoky purple eye in case he has a mission.

Speaking of which…

"No new assignments for you?" Beca asks as she flips through several pages including Chloe's medical record – broke her arm during cheerleading training once back in eleventh grade, is allergic to nuts and pollen, got hospitalized for drinking too much alcohol at a college party.

Jesse shakes his head, "Nope. Apparently no one in the agency has assignments. Guess we'll just be waiting for you to finish yours. This must be a big one, considering the boss never has me and the others without a job."

Beca has to agree with him on that. It is rare for Harriet Berry to let money slip through their fingers, and there are still hundreds of single rich bachelors and bachelorettes out there, roaming the streets of New York full of a faux sense of confidence and carrying fragile hearts and heavy wallets.

"Harriet did say this was no ordinary mission. Said the Beales took something from her, and before you ask she didn't tell me what."

"Money?"

"No. She said it was more valuable than that. Perhaps diamonds? The fuck would I know." Beca doesn't really care to find out, truly. She's got more important things to be doing – like focusing on this easy-as-fucking-pie mission – instead of gossiping about Harriet's life and secrets.

Jesse thankfully catches her I'm-not-in-the-mood-to-pull-a-gossip-girl tone, because he doesn't push.

"How do you plan on doing it?" Jesse enquires, effectively changing the subject, always eager to know how she'd make girls fall-dead-over-heels in love with her, hoping to catch a few pointers himself. Though, admittedly, he doesn't need to. He may not be as witty or as charming as Beca, but he does have that boyish charm most girls fall for – the boyish charm that promises stability. Except that stability is the last thing they get.

Beca bites her lip in deep thought at the question though, unsure of how to respond. One of her many talents is that she is able to carve her way into a woman's heart as easy as one can say chocolate. But every woman is different. Every woman is an endless world of thoughts and feelings and desires. She doesn't use the same tactic twice. She gets to know the woman first, then uses the weapons she has at her disposal, and then breaks. Effective as that.

"Not sure yet. May improvise. It says here," Beca starts as she reads a page that has her daily schedule (how the fuck did Harriet get her hands on all these files? It was certainly the biggest piece of information Beca has ever had to learn of someone), "that her shifts at the gallery are every Thursday and every Saturday from 5pm to 9pm. She sings accapella with a bunch of weirdos every other day from 6am to 10am. And there is no way in hell I'll get up that early, no. So, the best option is to go to the goddamn gallery" She says, a strategy already forming in her mind. She'd have to do a hell lot of research on art and paintings and all that bullshit, because the only thing she knows is that Van Gogh killed himself and that Frida Kahlo's husband was a cheating bastard. Fan-fucking-tastic. "Since tomorrow is Thursday, I can swing by at seven."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic." Jesse points out with that dorky grin on his face that indicates he's eager to make a stupid joke about her poker face when it comes to dumb shit like art.

"That's because I'm not. Order me another beer, will you? I'm going to get drunk before learning all about Monet and Hermione and Moran and those painters."

* * *

When Beca gets home, it's half past midnight. It is completely dark except from the light coming from her room, which she leaves on due to the fact that she tends to get home when there is not a single light to guide her more often than not. She's not that wasted, though. She is not as reckless as usual when it comes to getting ready to embark on a new mission, and thankfully enough she is not a lightweight like Jesse. She had to drop him off at his apartment and made sure he actually put on pajamas instead of his Peter Pan costume, which he tends to do when drunk (long story).

She kicks off her combat boots and tiptoes towards the kitchen, aching for a glass of water and perhaps three bars of chocolate.

Her apartment is not small by any means. It's actually prominent, but not the kind of apartment you'd see habituated by the high society. It has a single bedroom, a bathroom, a huge living room, a kitchen (albeit small) and her 'study' (which isn't a study per se, it's where she reads, listens to music really, really fucking loudly and pretends the world outside doesn't exist).

With the amount of money Harriet pays her for doing what she does, one would expect Beca to have bought something bigger. But she likes it small, she likes it simple. Besides, cleaning a fucking enormous place? Not time for that. She prefers to spend her money on… other stuff.

Beca retreats to her room once her stomach's desires are settled and gets rid off her clothes, putting on a simple shirt and boy shorts to sleep in.

"So, Chloe Beale. Look what you're making me do. Google about freaking paintings and their famous painters." Beca once she has her laptop on her legs, every single window opened with a different painter.

It is thanks to her missions that Beca has learned things she never would've bothered to learn otherwise. To woo a British girl named Ella who was into cooking and a complete tourist (she wore I heart New York hoodies every single time she went out), Beca had had to learn the proper way to boil water and to cook a pizza in the oven and so on. To make a girl named Rachel who was into drama and all that bullshit, Beca had had to learn every single Shakespeare book in existence by heart. Quoting it during sex gave her points, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.

When Beca knows she's learned all there is to know (thank you, photographic memory), she turns her laptop off and drifts off to the land of the dead and dreams. Dreaming about a pair of haunting blue eyes is not on her 'to do' list, but that is exactly what she gets.

* * *

Thursday evening arrives soon enough, and Beca finds herself choosing the perfect outfit to wear for her visit to the gallery. She's not at all nervous, but it is extremely difficult to find something in her clothes that doesn't scream 'raging lesbian about to steal your money and your car'.

She ends up picking a black skirt, a white blouse and a blue blazer.

Great. She gazes at herself in the mirror and curses. She looks like a lesbian in a poorly written comedy about geeks who sing.

Whatever. She still kills it.

Beca hails a cab after walking out of her building, not in the mood to walk god-knows-how-many-blocks to get to a stupid gallery. She's not wearing heels, though, but she is still too lazy to do so.

She gives the driver the address she obtained from the C-file and relaxes, texting Jesse to let him know the mission is on like Donkey Kong. (She does actually text him that, as embarrassing and lame as it may sound). He replies with a thumbs-up emoji and a 'Good luck – not that you need it – try not to be an asshole'.

Two things she notices when she gets to the gallery: it is freaking small to what she had originally anticipated, and it doesn't look as fancy and pristine as other galleries and museums in New York. She wonders momentarily if she has the wrong address, but catches the hint as soon as she lands eyes on a small poster by the door of the small building that reads: 'Beale Family Gallery – open only for those who have a passion for paintings and a unique experience!' It almost sounds like something Disneyland would say in one of their advertisements. Beca pays the driver and gets out of the cab, fighting back the urge to set herself on fire.

Of all things, why did it have to be paintings? Beca has a grudge against them, a huge one. But this is not the time to dwell on that. She hates everything that has to do with a brush, paint and a canvas.

With her head held high and her smug smirk on place, she walks up to the entrance, expecting some sort of guard to hold her up and scan her for any sign of guns or anything with metal on it (she may have to remove her ear-piercings, damn it) and is surprised to find none. Must be the type of people that have security cameras all around.

She walks in and looks around. There are three doors and a staircase, and Beca curses under her breath because no one bothered to give her a map that showed her how to get to Chloe the fastest. She enters the first room she sees marvels at how many people there are, all of whom are dressed in different styles (some more fancy than others), and they are all gazing at paintings with interest, occasionally commenting on their beauty and making sure to take a good look before moving onto the next one. Nerds.

Beca doesn't spot a redhead with long hair though. She does spot one, but is a guy in what she assumes is barely eighteen, openly staring at a girl's ass. Pathetic. She bumps into him as she walks by, purposely making him stagger a little.

She enters the next room, which is considerably emptier than the first one, and fights back the urge to just yell Chloe's name and wait for the woman to run to her. Looks like finding her would take a great deal of effort and patience. She decides to look at a couple of paintings though, wanting to keep herself distracted for a little while. It's obvious that she won't find Chloe so soon. The woman must be working hard. Doing what? Beca doesn't even know what a person at an art gallery is supposed to do.

The one she decides to look at is full of color.

No kidding.

It's the most colorful painting Beca has ever seen in her life. No trace of black in it, no grey.

It's a painting of flowers. Many, many fucking flowers. All a different color. There are many different shades of red, green, blue, yellow, and pink – any color imaginable. Beca wonders who painted it, because the person certainly managed to catch a glimpse into a rainbow of flowers.

Of course, Beca still fucking hates paintings. But fuck, does she feel like hating this one would be a sin. Not that she'd ever, ever admit that. Ever.

"Do you like it?" Says a sweet voice from behind, and to her own astonishment Beca's first instinct isn't to turn around and punch the person. It's a voice that drips kindness and a good sense of hospitality. It's as if the stranger wants to make sure Beca's actually enjoying herself.

She turns to answer, only to smirk at the sight.

It's Chloe.

And to be quite honest, Beca's relieved she doesn't have to look for her anymore. The woman found Beca instead. What are the odds?

"I do. Pretty colors. Good technique. Beautiful painting." Beca responds, trying not to stare too hard at Chloe's face.

Up close and in person the woman is much more beautiful. She's got that girlish sense to her and a hint of innocence in her beautiful baby blue eyes. The eyes that haunted her dreams the previous night. Now Beca is sure they'll keep on haunting her until her mission is over.

"Really? You think so?" Chloe seems unsure, as if she really values Beca's opinion. She's biting her lip, and Beca assumes that must be some sort of anxious tic.

Beca nods, not sure why but with the need to make sure Chloe feels completely reassured.

"Yes, of course. It's beautiful. The most beautiful painting I've seen here so far." It isn't a lie. And, alright, she hasn't looked at any other paintings but she's not planning to. Her mission is here. No need for more distractions.

Chloe beams at her, and Beca can feel herself smiling genuinely at the way the woman's eyes light up.

"I painted it myself. I was… nervous of putting it up for exhibition but my boss insisted. I've been working here for two months now and never once had I planned on actually letting people see my paintings," Chloe says, glimpsing her painting over Beca's shoulder briefly before continuing, "Not many people have looked at it though… They're all busy in the other rooms."

"I'm sure they will look at it. They'd be pretty damn stupid not to…" Beca reassures her, and suddenly she has the urge to make sure every single person – even the perverted redhead – see the painting and give it a giant fucking thumbs-up.

Chloe smiles widely and extends out her hand, "I'm Chloe."

Beca is smart enough not to say 'I know' (it happened to Jesse during his very first mission, but the guy had been quick to make up a excuse thanks to Beca's aid through an ear peace).

"I'm Beca." She says, shaking Chloe's hand gently and fighting back the urge to kiss the back of the redhead's palm (it'd be downright creepy to do so in the first meeting). "Since you work here, would you mind giving me a personalized tour?"

Chloe's smile is the only answer she needs. "Anything for my first fan of the night!"

And her most devoted one, though Beca doesn't know it yet.


	3. Chapter 3 - She's In

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Pitch Perfect or it's wonderful characters! I'm merely borrowing them for the time being.**_

 **For those who reviewed/favorited/followed: thank you and I hope you're having an amazing week! :)**

* * *

 _Tell me you're covered tonight_

 _Or tell me lies tell me lies_

 _I Want You to Know – Zedd [Ft. Selena Gomez]_

* * *

There are many adjectives that can be used to describe a person in the english language. Some are bad, some are good and some make you seem like a pretentious asshole looking to impress people with how many big words you know. If you want to be a romantic, there are also other languages such as Spanish, French and Italian. Beca is fluent in both Spanish and French, but for the first time in her life she is at loss of words, not sure how to properly describe Chloe Beale.

The redhead is very enthusiastic though, so bubbly will have to suffice for now.

As they walk around the gallery, with Chloe talking excitedly about all the paintings and giving her a few little facts here and there, Beca reminds herself to never interrupt the girl (not that she's planning to, hearing Chloe speak about something she's clearly passionate about is entertaining enough). Beca is a good listener and she grasps every single word Chloe utters and stores them in her brain. It is, after all, one of her tricks and weapons: getting to know the girl. By getting to know somebody, you'll know for sure what gets them going and what doesn't, what makes them blush and what makes them cringe. What makes them fall in love. There's also the necessity of finding out the password of Chloe's dad bank account, but let's be real she's not bound to find that out in their first meeting.

She doesn't comment often, unless she needs to agree with what Chloe's saying or chuckle at how annoyingly cute the woman is. It looks like Google didn't inform her enough about art (or Chloe literally swallowed an art dictionary in her college days), and thankfully Chloe doesn't notice her clueless expressions when it comes to talking about Titian and some other old painters (with extremely weird names). Seriously, the redhead knows her art. She doesn't seem to shut up.

Another adjective to add to the list: talkative.

Beca has the inkling that Chloe was one of the social butterflies back when she was in school, and by the looks of it she still is. Chloe often greets new visitors with a smile, calling some of them by their name. Beca doesn't miss the looks that most guys and girls shoot at Chloe: hungry stares that are begging for more than just a greeting. Pathetic.

"Here, look at this one! It's one of my favorites. My boss acquired it from a famous collector a few weeks ago. I think his name is Jacques Delacour, or something like that." Chloe says as she points at a painting of the sun and the moon in black and white respectively. The sun has a tiny smile painted on its surface, whereas the moon… well, it looks as if the moon's cringing. "It's a perfect representation of the ying and yang that are essentially the sun and the moon, don't you think? One looks happy to be painted, the other one wishes she could get out of the painting and perhaps have a drink or two."

Beca hasn't identified with anything more in her life.

"It is beautiful and the message is clearly well sent. The texture is breathtaking as well." Beca comments, gazing at the painting a little bit more before returning her attention to Chloe. The way the redhead looks at the painting is mesmerizing. It's the same way Chloe looked at the painting she, herself, painted. "You have great taste in paintings."

Chloe smiles at her, as if that's one of the best compliments someone can ever give her. "You know, I feel like we're really going to be fast friends." She makes a point of it by wrapping an arm around Beca's shoulders – which takes the brunette by surprise big freaking time.

She's not used to other girls initiating contact with her. Ever. This is not common. Also, fast friends? Well, fuck. Girls that want to be fast friends' first are dangerous and it usually takes a bit more time to woo them. Jesus.

Beca's first instinct is to shrug Chloe's arm off, because really? Really?! No. She may be tiny but she's not made to be an arm recliner or whatever.

She doesn't, though. She doesn't want to come off as an asshole so early. It usually takes people longer to figure it out. She smiles (the smile is a bit forced and it relieves her that Chloe doesn't notice that) and points at another painting, hoping the distraction will make Chloe release her hold on her.

To Beca's annoyance, she doesn't.

Chloe squeals and drags Beca towards the painting literally by the neck (well, not literally but almost) – it's one with beautiful gardenias painted in different shades of pink.

"My sister painted this one." Chloe says, and Beca notices the fondness behind her words, "It was a birthday gift to our mother, she cried when my sister gave it to her. We all did."

"Your sister?" Beca enquires, a grin forming in her lips at the opportunity of getting to find out more about the Beale family. Well, more than she already did, of course. Getting Chloe to open up about important people in her life is one step closer to _lovers_ and three far away from _fast friends_. "Is she here, too?"

Chloe shakes her head and drags her to another painting, "No, she's too busy. She does come here from time to time, but that's usually when I'm not working. If I'm here when she comes, she scolds me for slacking."

"How often do you slack?" Beca asks teasingly, relaxing a little and suddenly not finding Chloe's arm around her shoulders annoying anymore.

"Not that often… Just when there are no hot midgets around to keep me entertained, and let me tell you that you have proven to be quite the entertainment, Ms Beca. Hopefully the next time we meet you won't fail to entertain me." Chloe responds with a wink, effectively shocking Beca for the second time that night.

Another word to describe Chloe: forward. Way too forward. Confident? Weird? All three? _She is winning and she knows it,_ Beca huffs internally, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable herself.

Okay, what the hell?

Beca's never taken aback by anyone. She's the one to initiate the flirting. Always. And sometimes including sexual innuendos here and there just to make the girl blush. She's the one to initiate the touching. Which is mostly sexual and/or heading in that direction. She's not used to whatever this is.

She doesn't like it.

She strikes back with a, "Well, hopefully the next time we meet it'll be in a more private setting," and pats herself metaphorically on the back at the look on Chloe's face. It's a blank expression that as soon as it appears it's gone and it's replaced by a smirk.

Then Chloe says, "Hopefully we will. I suggest the shower. It is, after all, a very private setting."

Wait, what?

The _shower?_

That definitely has Beca feeling as if her cheeks are heating up and shit. But that's not possible, right? Cheeks only heat up when you- shit. She's blushing. Chloe's cocky smirk is indication enough that Beca wasn't hallucinating. Fuck.

"You look cute when you blush."

Beca is so freaking close to snapping but knows better than to do something foolish that'd ruin the mission.

"Thanks." She manages to choke out, which only makes Chloe's smile wider.

Cocky redhead. She's obviously enjoying this!

Much like how Beca enjoys making other girls squirm. Touché.

"Come on, I still have to show you one more painting before the close." Chloe interrupts her train of thoughts (which mostly include of thinking of good come backs that'd make the redhead blush even harder than Beca did) and releases her grip on Beca's shoulders, taking her by the hand instead and dragging her all the way to the last room in the gallery.

Beca hadn't noticed that the place is empty except for them and two people. Time passes by when you're being beaten at your own game.

And no, she'll never get over this. She doesn't like to be outsmarted and she absolutely hates feeling herself blush and stutter when it comes to something she's got at: flirting.

She glances at her watch quickly, arching an eyebrow at the time. She managed to spend 3 and a half hours in a gallery without complaining loudly and making someone throw her out. Fucking Jesse is surely going to tease her about it when she tells him.

The last painting Chloe drags her too is one that hits too close to home. A simple white canvas with a painted rainbow. Fucking hell. It reminds her too much of something she wishes she could erase from her mind, nevertheless she knows that no amount of alcohol or money or meaningless sex with girls will ever be able to do the trick.

Her mother had painted one exactly like that back when Beca was a toddler.

She feels like lighting it up and watching it burn. She wants to tear it down from the wall and throw it in a fucking trash can, or to stop her foot on it or to just get rid of it before it burns her eyelids.

Chloe's talking and for the first time in the night Beca doesn't hear her. She's too busy staring at the stupid painting, wishing that her gaze was able to burn holes through it somehow.

Beca doesn't respond until Chloe gives her hand a light squeeze and asks her, "Beca? Are you okay?"

No. She isn't. But she'd much rather swallow poison than say it out loud.

"Yeah, why?" She replies, turning to look at Chloe with that 'I'm-fucking-fine-and-smashing-it' smirk she's mastered over the years. "I'm sorry, I was just too busy thinking about your shower proposal that I zooned out. Are you free tomorrow?"

And just like that, she's back.

Chloe grins as a response and opens her mouth to reply when a husky voice coming from behind them interrupts, "Chloe, it's almost time to close. It's late. What are you still doing here?" Chloe lets go of her hand after having heard that. Beca misses its warmth instantly, for some odd reason.

They both turn around, and to Beca's astonishment they come face to face with the most strange-looking woman she's ever seen in her life – she's wearing what looks like the mixture of a dress and a poncho, a pair of sandals and glasses. There are no pictures of her in the B-file, merely mentions here and there (and only because she owns the gallery where Chloe works at) and Beca can honestly see why.

"I'm so sorry, Aunt Callie, I was just finishing with Beca's tour."

So this is Chloe's aunt.

"Is that so?" Aunt Callie hums, turning to give Beca a questioning look before holding out her hand, "I'm Callie Beale."

"Beca." She's careful enough not to give her real last name – harder for people to track her down after she's emptied their accounts – yet if asked she'll just make up a new one. She shakes Aunt Callie's hand and is surprised by how calloused the woman's fingers are. Must be for holding a brush for long periods of time. Her mother used to have them that way.

"Liked what you saw here tonight, Beca?" Callie questioned, looking at her as if trying to see right through her.

Beca nods, glancing sideways at Chloe. "I did, Miss. I specially loved Chloe's painting. You have a very talented niece right here."

That makes both women beam at her. Great. She's back in the game _and_ on top of the race.

"I sure do. Well, you better hurry out unless you want me to lock you inside." Callie ushers them towards the exit before reaching for her keys.

Once they walk through the door and breathe the fresh (albeit extremely polluted) New York City air, Chloe says, "So, that's my aunt. She owns the gallery."

"She seems like a nice woman."

"She is. She's amazing. There is a reason why I work for her, after all." Chloe looks down briefly, biting on her lower lip as she does so, before looking back up again to say, "I am busy tomorrow morning but completely free tomorrow night. In case you're still interested. Unless you were joking, which I hope you weren't, and no I'm not rambling I just tend to talk very fast sometimes. Here's my number."

Beca did notice Chloe's superhuman ability to ramble. She takes a small card with Chloe's name on it surrounded by tiny red hearts and a cell-phone written in the middle. That makes her raise an eyebrow.

"No, I don't roam the earth giving my phone to anyone, in case you were wondering. Just how midgets like yourself."

Fucking redhead.

"Well, then I'm lucky you decided we're worthy of such honor. I'll call you. Until next time, Beale." And off she goes, but not before smirking at the smile on Chloe's face.

She's in.

* * *

"Wait. Three hours?"

"And a half."

"Were you high?"

"Sadly, no."

"And I fucking missed it!"

"You third-wheeling my missions has never been a thing, has it?"

"It can be!"

"No, Jesse. It'd get us discovered and arrested."

Beca's currently sitting at her favorite park bench after having paid a visit to her favorite Starbucks, no hooking up with Stacie included. Whenever she's on a new mission, she tends to remain faithful to her targets. Stacie simply shrugs it off. That's what she likes about their no-strings-attached deal. They can fuck and play around and tease each other but it's not even a thing in the first place.

"We've been arrested."

"Only once and it was because you fucking got drunk and tried to give a policemen a lap dance."

"Sue my naked ass, then."

"Gladly. See ya later."

And she hangs up.

Beca sighs. She had just told him all about her meeting with Chloe and how she spent hours in that fucking gallery. How she successfully got the redhead's number. What she didn't tell him, however, is how she fucking blushed and stammered and got momentarily beaten at her own game.

That incident will die with her.

She vows, on this rusty old park bench with a cigarette in her mouth and an empty cup of coffee in hand, to never let it happen again. She can't blush if she hopes to get this mission done quickly.

Beca looks down when her phone vibrates, indicating an incoming call.

 _Harriet Berry_ flashes on the screen _._

Calls from Harriet only mean one thing, and soon enough she's on her feet on her way to meet the boss.

* * *

Beca enters Harriet's office after being told it's okay to do so, no trace of cigarettes or their smell in her persona (Harriet hates them profusely and always has, which is why Beca avoids to smoke whenever she's around the boss, since upsetting her is on her 'to never fucking do' list).

Harriet is polishing one of the stupid cats on her shelf. God knows why people love cats. Beca hates them with the passion of a hundred burning suns. All they do is spit fur balls (disgusting) and ignore you. Ungrateful little shits.

"Update me." Harriet Berry orders at once, not bothering to turn around and look at Beca. Her cats are more important, obviously, because they're shiny and quiet and they stay still, things Harriet has always valued. Regardless, Beca knows she has Harriet's full attention.

"I got her number. Met her yesterday."

"Where?"

"The art gallery her aunt owns."

That catches Harriet's attention, for she turns around with a raised eyebrow.

"You met Callie?"

Beca raises an eyebrow herself, mirroring Harriet's expression pretty well, and enquires, "How do you know her name is Callie?"

"I read the file, Little Mitchell, did you think I wouldn't?" And she turns back around to polish her cats, leaving Beca shrugging. Callie is only mentioned twice in the file and not by name, though Beca decides not to mention that. Harriet adds quickly enough to change the subject, "When are you planning on making your next move?"

"Tonight."

"Great. Woo her money away. Don't disappoint me."

"You know I won't."

She never has, after all. And she's not planning on starting now.


	4. Chapter 4 - Magical Somehow

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Pitch Perfect or it's wonderful characters. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being._**

 **Thank you to those who reviewed/followed/favorited. You guys rock! xx**

* * *

 _Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes_

 _Hold Back the River – James Bay_

* * *

Beca toys with the card with Chloe's number on it, a groan escaping her mouth every now and then. Calling the redhead won't be a problem. Asking her out won't be a problem either (although she's nervous as to whether or not Chloe will say yes, but she refuses to admit it). What is a huge problem, however, is that Beca doesn't know _where_ to take her if said redhead does, in fact, accept her invitation.

Chloe loves art, and Beca is 99% sure that she has already visited every single museum and art gallery New York City has to offer. Hell, maybe even every single gallery in the Hamptons and Paris too (considering the Beale family has houses in those places).

The redhead also loves singing (accapella to be more specific), but there is no way in the seven existing hells that Beca would buy tickets to see some random high scholars sing about social injustices and their sexual desires. That is so 2009, anyway.

Horse riding doesn't sound appealing for a Friday night date (according to the file Harriet Berry gave her, Chloe loves horse-riding). To be honest the idea of going horse-riding sounded as appealing as being celibate until marriage. Beca doesn't precisely trust horses more than she trusts Harriet or the landlord that always looks like he's stoned 24/7 (and it's not because she's scared of them, because she isn't, at all).

So, _where_?

Beca's not out of romantic ideas, no. Notwithstanding, she wants to make a number on Chloe. She wants the redhead to have the best date of her life. A date that'd ensure Beca safe entry to more dates and hopefully family meeting, in which she could potentially scrub in and steal every single penny the Beales own and maybe more.

First impressions are important. She knows for a fact that a girl never forgets her first date with someone. Ever. Disastrous as it may be, a woman never forgets. And she doesn't want Chloe to think of her as a pathetic woman who can't charm anyone out of their pants.

What if she already does, though? Beca bites her lip at the thought. What if Chloe already thinks of her as some silly woman who probably didn't dress appropriately to go to an art gallery?

The way Beca acted… The way she blushed! So embarrassing.

She shakes her head, not wanting her head to get too deep into those thoughts. Not worth it to get worked up over something that will never happen again.

Beca runs a hand through her hair. She's currently sitting on her favorite couch in the living room of her apartment, staring at the wall absentmindedly, ordering her brain to come up with ideas. Anything, really. Then she remembers: first things first, Chloe actually has to say yes.

She clears her throat before picking up her phone from the coffee table. She stares at it. What if Chloe is still at her accapella thing? What if she freaks out when a random number calls her? What if Chloe's busy? What if she doesn't reply?

What if she says _no_?

Beca isn't one to beg, and she doesn't want to bother Chloe or annoy her in the slightest.

Guess she'll just have to hope for the best (she curses at her brain for coming up with such silly insecurities in such an important moment).

She dials Chloe's number and waits, taking a deep breath to calm herself (no, she's not nervous, she's just preparing her smoothness).

She waits (not so patiently because the ringing on the other end makes her squirm a little as time goes by), fighting back the sudden urge she has to smoke. Or to listen to music really fucking loudly. Or to hang up. Are her palms sweating? No, they can't be sweating. Why would they be sweating? Why would she be sweating? The weather is chilly, not hot. Ridiculous.

Her train of (not so) panicked thoughts is interrupted when a voice on the other end of the line greets cheerfully, "Hello? Chloe speaking!"

"Hey, Chloe." Beca says, smirking (then she remembers that Chloe can't see her and stops, putting on a poker face instead), "It's Beca. The one from the-"

She's cut off abruptly, interrupted by Chloe once again, "Yes! The cute midget from the gallery! Hi! I was wondering when you'd call, to be honest. Anyway, what are you up to? Are you busy? How are you?"

 _Cute midget_ is the only thing that registers Beca's mind. She's not cute. She's not a midget (she's not that short!). She's hot as fuck and has normal height! And her cheeks are heating up again… Great, just great. She wants to smash her phone against the wall.

But she can't. Damn it.

"What? Oh, I'm fine, great." That wasn't smooth. At fucking all. Beca clears her throat and adds quickly, "I'm probably not as fine as you, though." Nice save.

"Trust me, you are really damn fine, Ms Beca." Chloe giggles in such an adorable way that- Wait. No. Not adorable. Chloe giggles the way all girls do. Well, except Beca. She never giggles. "You didn't tell me what you were up to, though, which leads me to guess that you're not up to anything. And if you really are up to nothing, then I was hoping you'd accompany me to eat lunch at this place I love."

"Lunch?" _Lunch_?! Beca hadn't actually considered that. Getting lunch sounds so simple. She hadn't considered it because she didn't really think that Chloe would like simple things. Rich girls never like simple things. They like over-romantic, over-dramatic dates and over-romantic, over-dramatic gestures. And Beca doesn't mind giving that to them, really, it's all for the sake of the mission and she knows that doing those things will get her where she wants to get (inside their pants and their bank accounts). Besides, she was hoping for a date at night. Because she's much… braver at night. Call it superstition if you must.

But lunch?

"Yeah, lunch." Chloe repeats, her enthusiasm still clearly present in her voice. "Are you in? I can give you the address and meet you there!"

 _Lunch_.

"Yeah, of course I'm in, beautiful." Smooth, right? Right.

"Please, smooth talker. If someone here is beautiful, that's you." Chloe says, making Beca's eyebrows shot up in the air. She's never been called beautiful by other girls before, just the occasional 'fuck you're so sexy' or 'shit you're so good please hot stuff keep going". Certainly a first.

Chloe gives her the address and Beca curses under her breath. It's obviously going to be some fancy ass restaurant and she doesn't have clothes for that. She could wear the same clothes she wore to the gallery, but then what if Chloe thinks she's got no will to spend money on clothes because she likes to look like a gang rider and instead spends her money on weed and cigars? (She wouldn't be wrong, but still.)

"I'll see you there, Beca! 2:00! Take good care!" And… Chloe hangs up, leaving a pouting Beca staring at the wall again.

That was, without a fucking trace of doubt, the most disastrous phone-call Beca's ever been in.

Since when does she act like such a loser? What happened to her wit? And she fucking blushed again! (Good thing is that Chloe didn't see her, so much for vowing not to let it happen again). She must've seemed like one of those animals that stare at you and only open their mouth without saying anything, mainly because they can't speak. And she is supposed to fucking know how to speak.

Pathetic. So, so fucking pathetic.

She stands up, clutching her phone tightly in her hand. She needs to fucking smoke. It's merely 1:15, she's got time to smoke and get ready to meet Chloe at _Paraiso_ (weird ass name for a restaurant in her opinion).

Reliving internal stress by smoking is not recommended by doctors anywhere, but for her it works.

* * *

Beca regrets not owning a car because walking a gazillion blocks to get to the goddamn restaurant takes her more than the anticipated ten minutes. Thankfully, she's not late. She's ten minutes early, even after having picked up flowers for Chloe (the file didn't say what her favorite flower was, so Beca had to take a guess).

Picking out an outfit hadn't been easy. Should she go for classy? No, because she had already worn the classiest clothes she has for her visit at the art gallery Chloe works at. Should she go for 'fuck it, I'm wearing whatever the fuck I want'? No, just no if she really wanted to impress Chloe. And so, she went for a dress. Not a very formal one, but one that screamed 'I do own good shit but not too much please don't kick me out'.

She arrives at the address Chloe gave her and looks around, squinting hard because of the stupid sun. She doesn't spot it at first, having expected to find some old-fashioned-but-extremely-fancy restaurant; instead she sees something else entirely.

It doesn't look fancy from the outside. It looks… normal.

She walks towards it, feeling unsure. It can't be, right? Maybe she has the address wrong. Maybe she didn't listen to Chloe properly. From up-close, it looks as bizarre as seeing a dog and a cat cuddling like best friends.

Beca would describe it as plain white and dull but it'd be a complete lie. The outside walls are white, yes, but decorated with many words on them – words of different colors each. Names. Countries. Haikus. Even poems. All of them all over the walls. Even the door (which is a faint shade of grey) has words on it. She stares at it hard. Should she go in? The sign says _Paraiso_ very clearly, but she's not sure that going inside would be a good idea. What if it's all dark inside instead of white? With the bodies of dead people? Beca knows she's being paranoid, but this is just… bizarre.

She lets out a squeak when someone pokes her shoulder, making her almost drop the bouquet of gardenias she bought for Chloe. Beca turns around rather aggressively, ready to punch whoever the hell scared the shit out of her, only to let out a relieved sigh at the sight of a smug-looking redhead.

A smug-looking redhead who's also carrying a bouquet of flowers. Oh.

"I see you bought flowers too!" Chloe exclaims, obviously fighting the urge to jump and down. Her eyes are twinkling. Beca smiles genuinely.

"Yeah. I didn't know which ones you'd like, so I had to take a guess and-, " She's interrupted by a finger on her lips.

"I love gardenias, actually." Chloe says, honesty shining in her eyes. "Here, let's exchange."

And so they exchange. Beca can't recall the last time someone bought her flowers (she buys them all the time for girls). Maybe it was when she got her arm broken after a nasty break-up with some Canadian chick (long story, Jesse gave her flowers he found on the yard of a house). She looks at the flowers and feels something tug at her heart, though she doesn't recognize what it is. Whatever. Chloe obviously has a great taste in flowers. They're blue and Beca feels bad for not knowing their name.

"They are forgetmenots." Chloe lets her know, as if reading Beca's mind (if her burrowed eyebrows in concentration didn't give enough already).

"They are beautiful. Like you." Beca replies after taking in Chloe's appearance. She's wearing a pink baby doll dress and white heels. Beca tries not to linger on Chloe's legs too long, though, wanting to keep her respectful-game strong. "But you didn't have to get me flowers, you know… God knows how much you spent in these." Though Beca is quite sure that for Chloe spending a hundred dollars on a bouquet of flowers is nothing.

"Probably not as much as you. And, perhaps I didn't have to, but you didn't have to either… And yet here we are, both holding a beautiful bouquet." Chloe winks at her, reaching out to take Beca's hand after having said that, "You look beautiful too. Shall we go in?"

Beca nods and follows, ignoring the fact that her palms are sweaty again.

* * *

The inside of the restaurant doesn't guard dead bodies much to Beca's relief. Instead it's just the same – white with loads of words scribbled on the walls. It is still bizarre, though, possibly more than the outside: instead of having many tables and chairs, it has a long rectangular table at the center, with dishes, food and drinks on it. There is a small table next to it with many markers of different colors and a note on it. There are small cushions splattered everywhere (except near the tables). It is empty except for two guys, who are sitting together near a window.

A waitress comes rushing out of what Beca suspects is the kitchen and takes their flowers (she almost protests, not wanting to be away from them in case something happens to them), but Chloe's grip on her hand tells her that it's okay, the flowers will be fine.

Okay, what the fuck? Since when does she worry so much about flowers?

The sight of the food wakes something within her. Hunger.

She turns to look at Chloe, who smiles at her and says, "Go on, take whatever you want. You must read the note first though, otherwise Lola will get mad at us."

Beca's too hungry to ask who Lola is. She reluctantly lets go off Chloe's hand (it was too warm, that's why she was reluctant), and walks over to the table, licking her lips at the sight. Burgers, fries, pizza, chicken nuggets and even that green stuff that looks like grass. So much food that looks so fucking delicious. Instead of going ballistic and grabbing everything she can hold, she picks up the note and reads it first like instructed.

 _Bienvenido a Paraiso. Here you can eat whatever you want for the prize of 7 bucks (leave the money on the small table). Write something on the wall after you finish. It can be anything. The name of a lover, the name of the object of your affections. Your dreams. Your hopes and desires. The country you're from, the country you want to visit next. Anything. Have a nice meal._

 _7_ bucks? She ponders whether it is a joke or not, then realizes that it doesn't fucking matter – she's too hungry to care or think properly.

Beca grabs a plate and fills it with fries, a burger and chicken nuggets, not glancing twice at the green stuff. She notices, however, that it is the first thing Chloe serves herself (the redhead also serves herself nuggets and a slice of pizza).

"How did you find this place? I'd never heard of it." She asks Chloe after swallowing a mouthful of fries. After serving themselves, they had sat down on a pair of cushions at the corner opposite the exit.

"My sister found it once. I was twelve, I think. She was thirteen. We were hungry and she asked our, um, driver to drive around the city in search of a hidden restaurant no one knew of. We found it after half an hour of searching." Chloe responds, and Beca doesn't miss the way Chloe said 'our driver', as if hesitating to say the word out loud. "She doesn't come here as often as she used to, though. I do, almost every Friday."

"And every Saturday, too." Says a woman emerging from the same door the waitress entered, smiling down at Chloe with such fondness that Beca wouldn't be surprised if this woman, too, turned out to be another relative of the redhead.

"Hi Lola!" Chloe almost knocks Beca over on her effort to stand up, but the woman named Lola shakes her head.

"Don't stand up, dear, keep eating and enjoy your friend's company." Lola says, smiling at Beca now.

"Her name's Beca, Lola. I met her at the gallery!" Chloe speaks after finishing the last of her green stuff.

"Another art lover like yourself, huh? And she's pretty, too. Keep her." Lola winks at Chloe, whose cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. "I'm on my way out, Maria forgot to buy tomatoes again and we're running out of those. I'll see you tomorrow!"

When Lola exists, Beca turns to look at Chloe with a smirk on her face. "You look cute when you blush."

"Do I? Am I?" Chloe blushes harder. _Yes_. Looks like the tables have turned in Beca's favor again.

No more fucking blushing for her, thank you.

"Yes, and it's cute as hell. Your cheeks are almost as red as your hair."

Chloe giggles.

They keep on eating and having small talk, with Beca throwing a few compliments here and there at Chloe (who luckily can't find witty retorts that may make Beca blush this time). Beca discovers that Chloe's very good at telling jokes, though, because she finds herself chuckling (almost laughing) more times than she can count.

She will never admit it, but she finds herself hoping that they could spend the rest of the day in this place. Talking… And hopefully eating more fries.

But alas, their time runs out, because when Chloe opens her mouth to tell another joke (at Beca's request), the redhead's cellphone rings. "Oh, crap." She mutters to herself before pulling her phone out of her purse, sighing when she reads who the caller is. "I need- I must go. It's my sister."

"Is she okay?" Beca enquires, moving to help Chloe stand up.

"Yes, she's certainly calling me about something that happened in the morning. Nothing major."

"Okay. Can I take you where she is?" She asks as she moves to take money out of her purse, only to be stopped by Chloe.

"No, stop right there." Says the redhead, shaking her head furiously. "I'm paying."

"No, you're not. I am."

"No. I am. I invited you here."

"Which is why I must pay."

"No. Rock, paper, scissors? The winner pays."

"Deal."

"Okay. One, two, three… Rock, paper, scissors!" Chloe enthusiastically says, pouting when she realizes that Beca beat her scissors with her rock.

"Better luck next time, Red." Beca cockily says, moving to place the money (and a generous tip) on the small table as instructed.

"So there will be a next time, huh?" Chloe is grinning from ear to ear, beaming at Beca and moving to pick up a couple of markers, handing one to Beca (it's dark blue, whereas Chloe's is a lighter shade of blue).

"Absolutely."

"What are you going to write?" Chloe questions, already writing something on an empty space on the wall. Beca can't read what it is because the redhead is blocking the view with her arm.

"I'm not sure, suggest something."

"Write a truth about yourself. Write something you like. Or your favorite color." Chloe recommends, standing proudly with her arms crossed after finishing her own writing.

Beca writes without thinking twice. It's just her hand moving. _And_ it's not a lie.

 _I like the color of your eyes._

She moves aside to let Chloe see, and Chloe does the same.

The redhead wrote: _You look cuter when you blush, for the record. The wall says so._

Cocky redhead.

They look at each other, both wanting to say something when suddenly the waitress returns with their flowers (handing each of them their respective ones, and saying that they ought to put them in water immediately). They thank her.

Beca opens her mouth to say something, only to be silenced by the ringing of Chloe's phone.

"Jesus. She's not very… patient." Chloe mumbles apologetically, typing out something quickly in her phone before turning her full attention to Beca once again. "This was lovely, Beca, thank you for accompanying me and for the flowers and for everything…"

"No, thank you. You're the one who invited me here."

They walk to the exit, waving goodbye at the waitress before walking out of the restaurant.

"You made lunch my favorite part of this day. I'll call you… Or you can call me. Or we can call each other. I will see you… Hopefully soon. Or not. Your call." Chloe's phone starts ringing again and Beca has the inkling that Chloe wants to burn it as much as Beca does. "So impatient… Anyway, bye."

Before walking away and towards a limo that's obviously waiting for her, Chloe leans in and Beca's breath hitches, thinking that Chloe may dive in for a kiss. She's mistaken, because instead of kissing her fully on the lips, the redhead kisses her cheek.

The only thing Beca can think of on her way home is the tingling sensation on her cheek and whether Chloe's lips are magical somehow.

Maybe they are.

* * *

 **Reviews are much appreciated :) Have a nice weekend!**


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